Little cracks formed in the surface of the dry earth, and Tormund could sense something stirring beneath the shale.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He shifted his feet as the cracks rent the earth beneath him. “Why couldn’t it be a dragon?”
Why did it have to be the dead?
Instantly, the earth fell still.
The wind stopped.
And as the völva looked up, Tormund knew instantly that something had gone wrong.
“The prince is east of the sun, and west of the moon; North of the earth and south of the ice; Above the fire and below the stars.” The völva slowly pushed to her feet. “But I can See what I did not See before. He searches for the world-killer, for the Monster With No Name. And if he unleashes it, then we shall all wish for the mercy of Ragnarök’s doom.”
Slamming her staff upon the stones, she turned her face to the skies. Instantly, a wind whipped her cloak until her matted white hair streamed behind her. “My dead children whisper of Destruction, and it must not be allowed to happen.”
“Easy, now,” Tormund said. “We’re all friends here—"
“You will help unleash it upon the world. That much is clear. Unless I stop you.”
A hand smashed through the burial mound to his left.
A high-pitched scream escaped Tormund. Fuckity-fuck-fuck. “How good are you with that sword?” he yelled at Bryn.
“If I draw this sword, giant, then none of our enemies will leave this clearing alive.”
“I like your confidence, woman.”
He just wished he shared it.
Another pair of hands crawled from the second burial mound. Mottled flesh clung to the finger joints, but the tips were mostly skeletal.
“They’re all rising!” Haakon bellowed.
And the three draugar were between the group and the rune stones.
“Now what?” he yelled at Bryn. “Running doesn’t seem to be an option anymore.”
“Behead them,” she roared back. “Cut them to pieces if possible. Or burn them.”
The war axe cleared its sheath. It felt good to have something solid in his hand. His pulse was still raging out of control. “Back to back then. Don’t let them break through.”
Bryn strode forward to meet the first draugr. “I don’t need you to guard my back, big man. I fight alone.”
Jesus. He threw her a frustrated glance, but the draugr to his left captured his attention. Its hollow eye sockets were filled with the little green marsh lights he’d seen earlier, and it stared at him as if yearning to make his acquaintance.
Judging from the rotting leather carapace that clung to its bared ribs, it had once been a woman.
“I’m sorry,” he told it. “I’ve already met my wife. And I prefer a little more… flesh, to be honest.”
The creature hissed at him, the twisted tendons of what had once been a tongue waggling at him.
“Why do you always drag me into these things?” he bellowed at his cousin as Haakon’s back met his.
“Drag you?” Haakon demanded incredulously. “You volunteered to come, you fucking idiot.”
The draugr swung its sword.
Both of them drove forward, his axe and Haakon’s sword meeting the downward blow. It should have stopped any normal creature, but the draugr possessed supernatural strength. The jar of its strike reverberated up his arm, and Tormund went to one knee, almost dropping his weapon.
For a creature compiled of rotting sinew and bones, it was remarkably strong.
“Someone has to save your fool head,” he yelled, scrambling across the ground and swiping for its calf.
Missed. Curse it.
The ringing clash of Haakon’s sword echoed frantically. “You’re the one on your ass!”
Muscles bunching, Tormund swung back the other way, smashing the spiked end of his axe into the creature’s foot. It let out a roar, momentarily thrown off-balance, and he scrambled upright.
Haakon’s sword slashed across its abdomen, spewing ropelike innards and a gush of green bile.
Tormund’s stomach rebelled the second the smell hit him, and he dry heaved as the creature roared and started… growing.
Frigg’s tits, what would it take to kill this fucking thing?
He examined his axe, examined the creature who now stood head and shoulders above him, and then lifted the axe over his head and hurled it directly into the draugr’s chest. The draugr screamed, its ribs caving in beneath the blow, but it merely staggered back three steps, then locked its gaze upon him.
“Tormund!” Sirius roared.
Tormund turned just as the dreki launched into the skies, his human arms stretching into wings. Sirius erupted into an enormous creature carved of scales, fury and violence.
The black dreki launched forward, its teeth snapping around the draugr’s head. With a wrench the Blackfrost ripped it off, tossing it aside with a vicious fling. The body fell backwards, Tormund’s axe sticking out of it.
“That’s one way to kill it,” Tormund muttered, yanking his axe from the draugr’s chest and breathing hard. He paused. “What’s he doing…?”
The dreki turned and shook its head. Its lithe, snakelike neck whipped back and forth, and then it retched. Scrabbling at his mouth with his foreclaws, the Blackfrost’s tongue spilled from his mouth, and then he drove his head into a nearby pool of stagnant water and shook it violently.
Draugar apparently did not taste very nice.
“I think that’s possibly the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.” Tormund shook his head. “And now I owe that bastard an ale.”
“Behind you,” Haakon warned.
They turned to find another of the massive creatures advancing upon them. This one wore a scraggly beard that fell to its knees and an old helmet.
“Mine,” Haakon said grimly, holding his sword low. “Go see how our guide is faring. Bryn’s smaller than we are, and I don’t know how well she can wield that sword.”
He turned just as Bryn darted toward him, with a bloodied knife in her hand.
“Through the rune stones!” she yelled at him, snatching his arm as she sprinted past.
Behind her lumbered a creature wielding a brass-bound club.
“Use your sword!” he yelled at her as he ran after her. Was she mad? A knife against one of the undead?
Bryn sprinted through the rune stones then whirled to face him. She glared at him, then set that glare upon the draugr. “I need some room to draw it.”
It wasn’t that bloody big. Tormund shook his head. “Stay behind me,” he said, then turned to face the creature alone. “Come on, you big, ugly bastard.”
He watched that club lift high, tensing his muscles.
Diving beneath the swing of the club, he swung his axe at its foot, but the creature danced and avoided the blow. Tormund threw himself aside, trying not to be crushed.
He hit a rock, his body wedged against it. The sole of an enormous boot blotted out the light, and he screamed as he threw his arms up and—
Someone yanked aside the curtains of gloom, letting the sun’s burnished rays smash down upon them. Heat washed over his clammy skin.
The draugr froze, its attention swinging toward the rune stones.
Toward Bryn.
And it was not the sun, but the sword in her hand.